To Whom It May Concern
by MitziMartyn
Summary: Ciel is invited to a business associate of his for a weekend, but it seems there is something rotten in the Allen estate. Trigger warning. Loose sequel to Good Company.


**I apologise in advance to anyone who might be hurt by contents of this story. But if you feel offended by this piece of fiction more than the fact that such things – and even worse – actually happen outside of prose, well...  
Just consider yourself warned.**

**This is a loose sequel to my other work 'Good Company'. It is not necessary to read it ahead, but narrator is the same – Frederick Martyn, a driver and occasional adventurer.**

**By the way, I have another cat. I got away with naming her Basti.**

* * *

**To Whom It May Concern**

My name is Frederick Martyn and this is my – seein' I 'ave approximately ten seconds left to live – farewell.

O' course, it's all Sebastian's fault, everythin' is his fault, but I suppose the whole thin' is gonna need a more throughout explanation, though the truth will apparently stay just between ye, kind reader, the persons involved in my death and me.

Everythin' started 'bout three years after my last adventure in the Phantomhive mansion, when I returned from India – older, not much wiser and firmly decided that I ain't leavin' the British Isles ever again.  
The mansion stayed exactly as I remembered it – absurdly big, starin' down at ye with its countless windows like a starved monster.

It was way past midnight just like when I came 'ere for the first time and so I logically assumed that I would 'ave to either break in or wait 'til the mornin' to get in – neither option really appealed to me, as the long journey took its toll on me and I was frankly too tired to do anythin' stupid.  
So I sat down at the doorstep o' the servants' entrance and leaned back against the 'eavy door. The night was cold, but hey, it wouldn't 'ave been the first night spent outside, plus, this time I had a coat that actually kept me warm.  
It felt wonderful to just sit down for a moment, cold or not. My eyes refused to stay open anymore - I could almost taste the tender kiss o' Sleep when the door opened and I fell in with the grace of a drugged sloth.

''Look what the cat brought in,'' uttered Sebastian. Amiable as usually.

''Pleased to see ye as well,'' I replied, gettin' back on my feet. ''It's been a while.''

Claimin' I missed him would be an awful lie and nobody would believe that either, but it was kinda nice seein' a familiar face, despite my grudge targeted on its owner. He led me to the kitchen without sayin' anythin' else and I trudged behind him.  
No, seemingly nothin' changed in the manor. As strange as it sounds, not even Sebastian – that man looked just like the day I left. Wouldn't ye expect at least a wee change after three years?

''Are you hungry?'' he inquired, glancin' at his pocket watch. This question caught me off-guard, makin' me wonder since when we are at 'I-don't-like-you-but-I-guess-I-don't-want-you-to-starve-either' terms? The last time we spoke I was fightin' the urge to punch him straight into that smirk o' his and I'm pretty sure he felt the same way.

''Nae, not really, thanks,'' I muttered as I plopped down on a chair. ''What's new?''

Sebastian laid a mug o' hot tea in front o' me and took the opposite chair. ''In brief, nothing much. There is a new servant in the house, a footman. We thought you would be here a few days earlier, but I am afraid you two will meet after we have returned.''

I sipped the hot and sweet tea in silence. It took my tired brain a moment to realise what did the butler say. ''… returned? What the fuck are ye talkin' 'bout? Where from? I just got back!''  
My mood quickly shifted from agreeable to aggressive. Never trust Basti when he acts nicely.

''You were supposed to come back a week... no, I am not interested in your explanation right now... a week ago. Young master is going to visit a business associate of his for this weekend and it is within your job description to take him there. As inconvenient as this situation might be for you, your late arrival is hardly my fault. What would I recommend to you is to go to bed and have some rest. We are leaving the manor early.''

I quickly finished the tea, cleaned the mug and nodded in the butler's direction tiredly, knowin' it's no use arguin'. ''Aye, seems like an idea. Good night then.''  
With that I left.

* * *

We departed way before the dawn, so we'd be there in the evening. The slightly taller, but still suspiciously midgety Earl, Basti and yer 'umble driver, 'eadin' to an outlyin' mansion o' sir George Allen, his youn' wifey and wee son from the first marriage.  
Allen was probably a bit o' a weird spider, even compared to the Phantomhive earl. His 'ouse was situated on an island in the middle o' a vast lake, connected to the land by a bridge – extraordinary and pretty impractical – two unmistakable signs o' a rich man's dwellin'.

Sir George, a well-dressed man in his forties with a wispy yellow moustache to match his wispy fair hair, welcomed young master in person, while I parked the carriage. Basti was waitin' for me, so we could enter through the back door as it is expected from servants knowin' their place. Yep, I got an unbelievably long lecture 'bout proper behaviour.  
Before we left Phantomhive without supervision, I caught a glimpse o' the rest o' the family. There was a dazzling young woman with hair like honey and milky white skin – Mrs. Beatrice Allen 'erself, as I later found out, a little pale blonde boy named Timothy, just eleven or so years auld and another woman in austere black dress o' a governess decorated by a pristine white collar, never leavin' Timothy's side. She stood out like a sore thumb, not only because o' her jet-black 'air and lively brown eyes, but also 'cause she was pretty tall for a woman – almost as tall as Basti or me. She went by the name Helen Pensworth.

Basti and I were given a room in the servants' quarters, which we had to – to our great displeasure – share. Look, I don't like his ass and he doesn't like mine, simple as that. We share beautiful relationship o' mutual distrust and I wouldn't 'ave it any other way.  
Anyway, I was tryin' to steal five fuckin' minutes o' sleep while he went to unpack master's clothes or polish that stick he has up his arse or... whatever Sebastian actually does.  
As usually, just when I got comfy enough, the butler came in and started pacin' around, sighin', rearrangin' chairs – simply makin' every annoyin' sound ye can think o'.  
I sat up dizzily, ponderin' whether a well-aimed pillow would shut him up, but then I came to the conclusion that he probably wouldn't give it back afterwards.

''Can ye stop that?''

Judgin' by the glare he gave me, probably not. Was he so unaisy 'cause o' leavin' Phantomhive alone with the 'ost? I mean, it'd be pretty awkward if he followed him there, yet, on the other 'and, it ain't too often that ye see youn' midget without Basti or the other way 'round. An explanation as good as any other.

''… 'kay, ye can't, I get it... uhm... nice 'ouse, ain't it? Guess they probably 'aven't got problems with droughts. Looks like it could be 'aunted, don't ye think?'' I asked, tryin' to turn his attention to somethin' more amusin' than causin' unnecessary noise.

''Well, this house is said to be haunted,'' he remarked casually, sitting down at last. Good, no more pacin'. ''I overheard a servant mentioning a ghost and she was more than eager to share the whole story – I would go as far as to suggest that she did not quite care if people wanted to hear it. Of course, the tale itself is hardly anything out of ordinary, such a story is connected with many different places all over the Empire.''

''Maylene would love that,'' I stood up and walked over to the window, overlookin'... well... mostly water. ''So, care to tell me more, nana?''

He smirked and waved my request off like a speck. ''The usual. A ghost appearing to announce death of a family member.''

''What is this, the Middle Ages? One would 'ave thought the whole mystical bullshit would be overthrown by now. So, a ghost and a chance o' death, what a lovely weekend ahead for youn' master!''

His smirk grew even wider. ''Still the same sceptic? I am surprised how slowly you learn, Frederick. To ghosts it does not matter if you accept the existence of the supernatural or not. Moreover, aren't your words rather bold for a believer?''

My 'and automatically shot up to the cross 'idden under my shirt. How the fuck did he notice that I wear it? ''This... ain't mine. Well... now it probably is,'' I muttered in response. ''I'm baptized and all, but I don't go to the church or... believe in God. It's just a keepsake. Nothin' more.'' With that I knelt down, fishin' my bag from underneath the bed in an attempt to 'int I don't want to talk 'bout it any further.  
I picked up a book and started readin', while he was still starin' at me, smili' wickedly as if he just 'eard a damn good joke.

''… what.''

''Excuse me?''

''Quit starin'. It's irritatin'.''

Sebastian did the perfect impression of 'urt innocence. ''Am I making you uncomfortable? I apologise.'' He paused for a moment. ''Well, it is getting rather late, I have some matters to attend to. Please, try to avoid getting yourself into trouble again. We would not want to disgrace young master.''  
He left and after a while I managed to fall asleep.

* * *

My slumber was interrupted by a gentle tap on the shoulder. I sat up dizzily, lookin' around in confusion before realisin' I was in the Allen manor.

''What's wrong, Basti?'' I mumbled and looked over to the other bed, just to see the butler, who was, apparently, sleepin' peacefully.

''Alright, just my imagination then.''

There was eerie silence all around the 'ouse and – to be honest – I could feel the chills runnin' down my spine. Fuckin' butler and his fuckin' ghost stories.

Suddenly he shot up too. ''That was you?'' he inquired. ''What do you want?''

''Nothin'... I thought ye wanted somethin'.''

He gave me a puzzled glance. ''You just tapped my shoulder, Frederick, didn't you? I was sleeping, as you might have noticed.''

''I didn't! I was woken up by such a tap! Basti, that's a pretty dumb prank.''

The butler immediately got outta the bed. To my great shock I realised that he slept dressed in his full daily attire. That indeed raised a few questions.  
I turned on the light quickly and we started searchin' the room together – words weren't necessary, but I guess he also felt pretty weird.

''Any idea what could it be?'' I asked 'esitantly. ''Mice?''

''No, I do not think so. Most likely it was just a figment of our imagination,'' he explained, but his expression wasn't too convincin'.  
I peeped out o' the room. The corridor seemed to be empty and everythin' was quiet.  
Without previous warnin' Basti slipped past me and outta the room. ''Young master is calling.''

No idea how could he know, but I simply knew better than to question him 'bout stuff between him and Phantomhive by now.  
For the record – I wasn't afraid, alright? This whole situation just smelt o' trouble, so I grabbed my trousers and went after him.

''I'll go with ye... just in case, aye?''

The smirk appearin' on his face threatened to split his face into two equally annoyin' parts, but I pretended that I didn't notice and followed him through the dark mansion. More footsteps could be 'eard as disconcerted servants in nightclothes started appearin' everywhere, talkin' to each other nervously. With their grave expressions they reminded me more o' a swarm o' maggots ceremoniously followin' the lurkin' scent o' fresh blood.  
Sebastian nudged me straight into the ribs and gestured me to speed up a bit. I tore my face away from the odd scene, but not before I could make out a single word in the buzzin'. _The ghost. _

''I don't like that,'' I muttered, tryin' to match his speed.

Strangely enough, he didn't say anythin' sarcastic. He just nodded and by that I _knew _somethin' was wrong. The door o' the guest room young master resided in shot open and there appeared the midget 'imself, wrapped tightly in a dressin' gown.  
''Sebastian, there was an intruder in my room,'' he stated calmly, but even in the gloom it was obvious that his cheeks were paler than usually.

And then we 'eard the scream.

* * *

A distressed cry pierced the silent night like a bullet.

''That was lady Allen,'' stated young master, 'eading off fearlessly in the direction o' the scream. Basti and I followed, naturally.

I couldn't see much in the darkness and it seemed that the mansion stopped in time. Everythin' was silent and still, only our steps echoed in the corridor. Pale faces o' previous masters o' the 'ouse were shinin' faintly and I felt their dull eyes lookin' down at us with the impassive glee o' the dead.  
The earl walked quickly yet calmly and the butler in his black suit blended with the shadows, followin' young master like a loyal dog.

Servants were squashed around the ill-lit door to lady Allen's bedroom, anxiously lookin' at each other, but nobody spoke up, save for Mr. Allen, who was tryin' to soothe his noticeably distressed wife with gently muttered words o' comfort, holding her tiny tremblin' 'ands in his own, much bigger, slightly scratched ones.

''Go to bed, there is nothing to see,'' commanded Kelly, the 'ousekeeper, sternly, clutchin' the bundle o' keys at her waist so tightly, her knuckles turned white.  
Phantomhive waited until they left and then approached lady Allen, who was shakin' profusely, all wrapped tightly in a soft blue shawl.

''May I ask what happened?'' he asked calmly. Yeah, I had no idea how the fuck could that kid be so dispassionate. Any ideas?  
Lady Allen bit her lower lip and averted her gaze. More than anythin' she resembled a wee bunny trapped by a fox.

''They want my death,'' she stammered out, hidin' her face in her 'usband's chest.

''Somebody played a very cruel trick on my wife,'' explained sir George curtly and opened the door so young master could take a look for 'imself.  
He entered the room cautiously, gesturin' us to follow. My stomach tightened in a knot at the offered sight and I overheard Sebastian's sharp intake o' breath.

On lady Beatrice's dressin' table stood a lamp, illuminatin' a tiny bundle o' marmalade-coloured fur stained with blood.

''Is that...?'' inquired Phantomhive.

The lady simply nodded. ''My cat,'' she confirmed, lookin' everywhere but at the mutilated feline.  
Its neck was snapped and twisted in an awkward angle, its mouth wide open. Whoever did that apparently enjoyed the act, for he or she... no, sorry. Despite my determination to bring an 'onest report o' my last case I can't go into greater detail. Just can't. There was a note, made outta cutouts from the newspaper. It said: You are next.  
Murder o' a 'uman is more or less understandable – money, jealousy, revenge – we all 'ave somethin' we'd gladly kill for.  
If a dog or a snake or any wild beast attacks ye, it might 'appen ye kill him. That's understandable too.  
But why would anyone do this to a relatively defenceless creature? There were _nails_!

I glanced at Basti. His posture was as uptight as ever, but his fingers were tense, as if fightin' the urge to ball them into fists and his eyes seemed to grow just a shade darker than usually. Sure, that might've been just a trick o' light.

''Shall I bury it?'' I blurted out into the shocked silence. It was pretty late at night, but I just wanted to get out quickly. The whole thing smelt o' 'ighgate.  
Lady Beatrice nodded shakily and 'anded me her shawl 'esitantly. I wrapped the lifeless creature into it and left.

* * *

I managed to find a trowel and a neat little place in a distant corner o' the vast gardens belongin' to the Allen Estate. Just a nice 'idden corner shaded by a weepin' willow.  
The stars shone brightly, so I didn't even need a lamp. I put the poor feline into its grave, makin' sure it's covered properly by lady's silken shawl. Yeah, it didn't really matter now, but I felt I should show it at least some... respect?

''It would almost seem you were shaken by this,'' uttered a voice behind me and I was _this _close to gettin' a 'eart attack.

''Basti, ye can't sneak on people like this!'' I stammered out, fillin' the grave.

''I obviously just did,'' he retorted briskly.

Then he did somethin' unexpected. He knelt on the ground by me and began 'elpin' me with the sad work. ''Ye like cats?'' I asked 'esitantly, tryin' to tamp down the dirt somehow.

''Yes, you could say that,'' he agreed. ''They posses many favourable traits, especially in comparison to humans.''

The cat was buried and we just sat there in the darkness, each fully consumed by his own thoughts. I somehow didn't know what else could I do or say, but it felt weird to just... do nothin' and stay silent.

''Have you got a theory already?'' he asked quietly. His expression was absolutely blank and I wouldn't dare to guess what he was thinkin' 'bout. ''You always have a theory.''

''Nae, not always. And this kinda doesn't make sense...''

''Just like the majority of things you say. Go on, amuse me.''

''Glad to see ye're attemptin' to be funny again. Ye got me almost worried there for a second.''

''Worried? Be still, my heart,'' snorted the butler, falling silent for a moment again. ''So you agree with the servants? Was that done by a ghost, my little taig?''

''Where did ye learn such language, convent-boy?'' I asked, tryin' too damn 'ard not to take this personally. ''For doin' somethin' like this ye need to actually exist,'' I pointed out, earnin' a 'umourless chuckle from him. ''I bet my cross it was done by a 'uman. If ye feel like chasin' a phantom, go ahead, but I'm going back to bed.''

With that I got up, dusted down my pants and left this Dorian Gray's bastard. Not that I weren't interested, but there were way too many questions, way too little clues and I needed just a few 'ours of peaceful, undisturbed sleep. Somethin' I 'aven't had since... pretty much since I left India.

* * *

_Sebastian sighed softly and after a couple of minutes entered the mansion himself to close his eyes for a few hours. Pretending to be human. How tedious.  
He entered the shared room, careful not to wake up his Irish roommate. It took him a second to realise that he was, in fact, alone in the room, which seemed odd, considering how eager Frederick was to get some sleep.  
An hour passed with the driver nowhere to be seen.  
Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh, well-aware he probably started investigating. Not that he would not be good at pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, the demon had to give him that, but if he got caught, especially now, it would cause them all unnecessary trouble.  
The butler left their room and quickly searched through the house, but it was fruitless and his senses told him, that that nuisance of a servant was not even inside._

_The sky was unusually bright, starlight painting the muddy gardens silver and white. Of course, Sebastian did not need any light at all to see clearly, but he considered the scene to be quite aesthetically pleasing,perfectly matching the eerie happenings of that night._  
_His steps led him to the poor feline's grave where they parted, trying to make out something of the mess of their footprints._  
_And really, it seemed the other servant went straight to the house from there, but roughly ten or so metres outside the door he took an abrupt turn to the right, to the remote part of the demesne._  
_The demon raised an eyebrow, wondering what the reason might have been. Following the trail he soon found himself at the edge of the lake. The wind caused small waves on the lake's surface and those waves almost completely washed away the last footprint._

_Sebastian's eyebrow twitched in confusion. There were only Frederick's footprints and it seemed the Irishman simply walked into the water for no reason whatsoever. Walked in, but never returned.  
He was too old to be caught off-guard, but not yet old enough to forget what was it like to be surprised.  
The demon chuckled, the whole situation was getting interesting. Now, where could the driver be hiding?_

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_Suddenly he heard heavy breathing and a twig cracking beneath someone's foot. He turned around quickly, facing no one but Frederick. His clothes was wet and splattered with mud, but he did not appear to be cold, despite the weather. In fact, droplets of sweat were trickling down his forhead and his eyes glowed feverishly._

- here.

_''I was convinced you were too tired to play around like this. You ought to get some rest, or else you will be useless tomorrow. Well, more than usually.''_

_No response. The driver was looking straight through him, taking no notice of his words._

_''Earth calls Mr Martyn,'' said the demon, approaching him cautiously. This was... odd. The other one was just standing there with his fists clenched and Sebastian suddenly realised the human had not blinked since his appearance. ''Frederick, can you hear me?''_

_The other one blinked, appearing confused, as if he just now noticed he is not alone and grinned at Sebastian. Too bad the broad smile did not quite reach his eyes. ''Glad to see ye,'' he muttered, his accent even heavier than usually. ''Let's go in.''_  
_With that he stuck his fists into his pockets and darted towards the house, closely followed by the butler._

_''Where were you?''_

_''Went for a swim, obviously,'' joked Frederick, trying hard to sound careless. He was not a very good actor._

_Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ''Fully clothed?''_

_''Yeah, why not, it's cold.''_

* * *

_They returned into the mansion together. It was as silent as ever, nobody would have guessed what occurred there just a few hours ago.  
Sebastian claimed to feel fatigued and headed off to bed, while Frederick went to the bathroom to get cleaned up before doing the same.  
He could not explain what he saw by the lake, so he clung to the possibility all of that was a dream. A really strange dream. There was great comfort to be found in that thought and soon he calmed down enough to finally take a good look at his little... souvenir.  
Three human teeth, almost mistakable for pieces of limestone and a rusty bullet. The driver shuddered, tossing those little souvenirs into a chest of drawers between their beds.  
He turned towards the wall, unwittingly touching the cross resting beneath his shirt. The ghost, the cat and now... this. _

* * *

I went through an uneasy night and Basti woke me up in the mornin'. Ain't sure what's worse. Needless to say, we were both in piss poor mood.  
We had breakfast in the servants' quarters. Everybody was chattin' 'bout what 'appened at night. Jerry, one o' the stable boys with thick Scottish accent stated: ''The ghost hates lady Beatrice, it's obvious. He never raged like this before they got hitched. Though I ain't that sorry for that cat. It was a little bastard, it scratched me so many times I'd kill it myself.''

''Not that the previous one was any better,'' muttered Kelly, the 'ousekeeper. ''Leaving her husband and little one just like that, with a letter, that's not something a proper woman does. Poor child. Lady Beatrice is kind to the boy, but mother is a mother. Do you know those two – lady Nora and lady Beatrice were friends?''

Miss Pensworth, the aforementioned governess, shook her head softly. ''He is a very intelligent boy and understands the situation. After all it has been at least five years since lady Nora left. I would be more concerned if he were not over the whole thing by now. I remember it as if it was yesterday though. Sir Allen was in London and we had no idea what to do when she disappeared.''

''Well,'' the 'ousekeeper sat down to us with a huff. ''Well, anyway, master should've found a proper woman that would take good care of him, not like lady Beatrice or lady Nora. Pretty girls are fine, but he needs someone more reasonable.''  
Judging by the way Kelly's waxy cheeks flushed, she probably had a very clear idea already. An idea in which 'lady Kelly Allen' would play a significant part. It's rather frustratin'. Sir George got married twice and it seemed he even had a third woman all crazy 'bout him, despite bein' no good-looker. Does success with women has somethin' to do with bein' rich and noble? Or was there a quality 'bout him I couldn't see?  
Well, if any o' us Phantomhive servants talked shit 'bout young master or his girl, Basti would kick our sorry arses to the moon and back. The Allen 'ousehold was kinda odd in that matter.

After breakfast I went to the stables to 'elp the regular servants out, but to be 'onest, we spent most o' the time exchangin' jokes. Some pretty stupid, some pretty good.  
Meanwhile, Basti left to take care o' bratman's beauteous posterior, or so he said. Well. Not literally.

* * *

_Sebastian's curiosity was piqued.  
The ghost, the cat, the new mistress and no visible connection between them, plus Frederick's odd behaviour at night.  
The driver was, if nothing, brave, almost ridiculously so, but something happened and the demon could not fathom what could squeeze a reaction like this out of him.  
A ghost let loose meant a threath for young master's safety and so Sebastian naturally needed to get on the bottom of this mystery. _

_''This won't do,'' sighed the demon, shaking his head softly.  
He was somewhere where he certainly didn't want to be. Knee-deep in muddy waters, making his way along the rocky edge overgrown with verdure.  
One tree collapsed into the water where it was left to rot, for who knows how long. Except that the lake offered no interesting sights and the demon was about to turn back and leave that place when his sharp eye spotted something it had missed before.  
There was a hole just above the water, partially hidden behind the tree and almost completely buried underneath the omnipresent vegetation.  
With his typically flawless elegance the butler sneaked in and looked around.  
Fortunately, he didn't need much light and so he could perfectly clearly see... nothing.  
Disappointing. It was merely a tiny dark, damp cave with nothing but rocks inside, neatly piled up in one of the corners, almost as if..._

_… the butler chuckled. That was almost too easy._

_He walked behind the pile to find bones. Human bones, to be exact._  
_Rather small, as far as he could judge, with slightly deformed ribcage. The elements treated the displayed body harshly, there was nothing much but bones and teeth scattered around left. Even so, the bones were in rather good condition. Some ribs, the left humerus and the right femur were missing, yet that was to be expected._  
_Sebastian knelt down to inspect the skeleton closer._  
_It had a thin golden chain around its spine, a simple oval pendant decorated with stones hanging from the chain loosely in the ribcage instead of heart._

_Nephrite, aventurine, onyx and rhodonite. Rather unusual choice in his opinion, but he did not feel too secure in the matter of human tastes. However, he recalled a peculiar thing – at one point it was very fashionable to gift jewels with... meanings. Sometimes the first letters' of used gems would stand for letters and spell words – or names.  
Nephrite, onyx, rhodonite and aventurine.  
N-O-R-A._

_Well, that was indeed interesting, weren't lady Nora supposed to be in Africa with her paramour? He took the necklace, put it into his inner pocket and left._

* * *

The locket and the bullet laid between us. Basti and I were sittin' on the bed, glarin' at the items not too intelligently.

''So, it can be safely assumed that lady Nora is not in Africa,'' stated Basti into the heavy silence.

''No, shit, Sherlock. Yer intelligence is blindin' us, mere mortals.''

''It should be,'' he replied with a smug smirk. ''Lady Allen had decided to leave her family and sir George easily found replacement. Isn't it convenient? Furthermore, didn't you notice how badly Mr Purrington scratched him?''

Mr Purrington. I wish I were kiddin'.

''Ye've got a point,'' I admitted, pickin' up the locket. ''Mayhaps he had a change o' 'eart again and if he got away with that... he might even 'ave a new object o' interest already.''

''It is a theory as good as any other,'' he replied without as much as battin' an eyelash.

''The governess? I mean, she is pretty if ye like this type. Loyal to the family, acquainted with the little one and it ain't like this never 'appened before.''

''What about the housekeeper? She seems to have harboured feelings for her master.''

'' She ain't that kind that makes men murder their wives. He is suspicious, not blind. In all due respect to all speciemen o' the fair sex, I'd rather bugger ye than 'ave anythin' to do with her.''

''Am I supposed to be insulted, flattered or alarmed?'' he sneered and – though I ain't completely sure 'bout that – appeared to finally relax a little. Then he gave me a long, critical look and answered the question for 'imself. ''Alarmed.''

''So, sir George is 'avin' extramarital ideas – _possibly_ involvin' miss Pensworth – and so he kills his wife's cat. The cat scratches him in an desperate act o' self-defence. When ye say it like this it makes perfect sense, except that it's utter bullshit. And it doesn't explain what 'appened at night. I mean, why would he want to raise the whole 'ouse and how would he even do that? Someone surely had to be awake still, somebody would spot him. Plus, if he really has any interest in miss Pensworth –''

''- and that's only our assumption -''

''- exactly, why would he kill his wife 'cause o' her? I mean, wouldn't it be aisier to make a lover outta her? I mean... why trouble yerself more than necessary? Besides that, Jerry said Mr Purrington scratched people even before, so the cuts sir George has don't really prove anythin', except that he met that cat somewhen in the past few days. Considerin' it lived 'ere...''

''I see where you are going with that,'' nodded the butler thoughtfully. He picked up the locket and touched the stones it was decorated with. It was really impressive he found out what they meant. To me it appeared more like Green Stone, Black Stone, Pink Stone and Green But Different Shade Of Green Stone. Sometimes he is kinda cool, but if ye tell him I said that, I'm goin' to deny it and yell 'NO HOMO' at the top o' my lungs. ''I would also like to add that I cannot fathom the reasoning behind killing a cat when you are intending to kill its mistress.''

''Another good point. Are ye ill or somethin'. Anyway - what do we actually know?''

The butler tapped his chin thoughtfully and fixed his gaze somewhere behind my shoulder. ''We know that lady Nora apparently left her husband and left a letter behind. However something must have happened, as she is obviously quite dead by now.''

''Sure, but mayhaps the letter wasn't written by her. We haven't seen it, so... yeah.''

''Very well. Now there is the fact someone killed Mr Purrington. Could it be a warning?''

''Fair guess. Look, Basti, if ye wanna kill somebody, ye just do it. Simple as that. So, probably a warnin'.''

''Then there is the ghost.''

I shook my 'ead quickly. ''Ghosts don't exist. Superstitious servants and an odd coincidence or two can't prove shit.''

Sebastian fell silent for a while, just gazin' at me silently. Oh well, here we go.

''You saw it, Mr Martyn, there is no need to lie to me – or better, no _use trying _to lie. Just what happened at night? You _saw _something.''

''I don't remember.''

''So how is it possible you suddenly headed straight to lady Nora's remains?''

I looked down and outta the 'abit touched the cross underneath my shirt. He didn't 'ave to know everythin'. ''Hey, what 'bout we try to talk to the people in the 'ouse a little? I guess they could tell us somethin' new. And I suggest startin' with miss Pensworth, she seems to be well-informed and less... biased than the others.''

''May I have the honour, your reverence?''

''It's 'cause o' that cat, right? It's buggin' ye. But can ye stay subtle? Somehow don't think it'd be good to alarm everyone by askin' certain questions.''

''Subtle is my second name,'' remarked the butler smoothly.

''Really? Thought it was 'sassenach'. Fine. Go and get her, tiger.''

* * *

_It was already after Timothy's lessons and so sir Allen allowed him to take tea with him, his step-mother and their guest, who was, after all, still closer to the boy's age. Therefore miss Helen Pensworth had a moment for herself.  
She decided to go for a walk, as the weather was rather agreeable and the mood in the house its exact opposite. On top of that, her young charge had troubles sleeping as of late and couldn't focus on his studies at all. Quite a worry._

_Helen sat on the bench in a remote part of the gardens and with a soft sigh closed her eyes. The gentle wind did her tried nerves good, very, very good._

_''What a pleasant day,'' remarked a voice beside her._

_Startled she opened her eyes, finding herself face to face with the Phantomhive butler. ''You scared me.''_

_''Please, do accept my sincerest apology for that. I did not mean to,'' he replied with a polite smile and glanced at the spot next to her questioningly._

_A little nod. He sat next to her. ''Do you come here often?''_

_''Quite, yes. Especially with young lord, he enjoys being outside. He could play be the lake all day long if I let him,'' explained the governess pensively, painfully aware of the man's presence. There was something unnerving about him – unnerving, but in the sweetest possible way._

_''You were here in service even during lady Nora's time, if I am not mistaken.''_

_''Indeed. I've been working here for seven years already. Lady Nora herself hired me.'' Another sigh left her pale lips. ''To be honest, I knew she was going to leave. I overheard her planing that with... a good friend of hers. She was quite a free spirit and couldn't get accustomed to this way of life and so, when she saw a chance... I only wish it didn't affect young lord so much. I've tried to make her stay but... Maybe, if I said something then... ah, please, don't mind me. I am not even sure why I am telling you all of that.''_

_Helen looked at her pocketwatch and standing up smiled politely at the butler. ''I am afraid my duties are calling me again. Have a nice day.''_

_So the governess knew about lady Nora's plan. Who else?_

* * *

And this is pretty much how we figured out who was the killer. Y'know, we're pretty smart - Basti is just better at concealin' it.  
But allow me a bit o' drama, aye? After all, this is _my _last will.

First o' all we talked to young midget. At first he looked at us as if we were insane. _Then _he told us we were insane. And then he agreed with our plan. I wish I could say it was 'cause I managed to convince him, but it was actually Basti. He has an awful lot o' influence on the Earl.  
Frankly, if I were wrong, the consequences would be – to use their exact words – unpleasant.

Even though we couldn't be absolutely certain – 'cause ye're _never _absolutely certain in these matters – he announced at the dinner that 'his people' found out what 'appened to Mr Purrington and that he'd only be glad to 'elp 'n' settle the whole matter.  
Lady Beatrice didn't look overly pleased, guess she was a wee bit jumpy and that for a good reason. It's not everyday that ye get a ghost goin' after ye. Anyway, everyone agreed and after the dinner we all met on the lake's bank.

By all I mean sir George Allen, beautiful lady Beatrice, Kelly the 'ousekeeper, miss Helen Pensworth, youn' master, Timothy Allen and the one and only Sebastian Michaelis with a box in his 'ands.

It was... amazin' in a way. After all those years o' catchin' criminals 'ere and there I finally had my perfect moment in the spotlight, feelin' like Sherlock Holmes. I always lived for those moments. Now, face to face with death I can say that I regret nothin'.  
They were standin' in a slightly misshapen circle. I stood with Basti at Ciel's either side, ready for the show.

''Good evenin', ladies 'n' gentlemen,'' I started, only to be interrupted by the butler.

''We would like to apologise for the inconvenience. My companion is really attempting to speak English, so, please, bear with him for a while.''

Nervous laughter from the audience.

''Ye're always too kind. As some o' ye might 'ave noticed, there was stuff goin' on and I guess it'd be better to make everythin' clear before somebody gets 'urt.''

Sir George frowned, runnin' a 'and through his 'air impatiently. ''Lord Phantomhive, in all due respect, this is ridiculous. What is this even supposed to mean?''

The child seemed to 'esitate for a split second. Our eyes met and after a while he nodded softly. ''Go on.''

''Thanks. Anyway, it's obvious somebody is after lady Beatrice. No wonder, it's tough to be a wife number two, right?''

The golden-haired woman just looked down. She appeared so 'elpless, like a child. Couldn't but pity her in a way.

''It's aisy to slate somebody, huh? But, ye know, the loudest critics are usually just jealous, right Kelly? Ye'd know o' a better choice for sir Allen, isn't it that way? And as the 'ousekeeper, ye've got aisy access everywhere, it'd be the simplest thin' ever to become a ghost.''

Her cheeks turned bright red. ''Prove that! None of that is true!''

''I said it's possible, that's all.''

''Fine, maybe I pulled a prank or two, but I didn't lay a finger on that damned cat!''

Sebastian gave her one o' those slightly creepy smiles with 'alf-lidded eyes. ''We know, miss. Please, may you give me your hand for a moment?''

She gave him an enchanted gaze – he seems to have that effect on women – and laid her rough, doughy 'and into his. He pulled up her sleeve gently, revealing her forearm. ''Mr Purrington was rather famous for being aggressive towards people. If miss Kelly really hurt him, her skin would hardly remain undamaged. On the other hand, sir George's hands...''

He turned into the embodiement of fury. ''Why would I do anything like that to my own wife? You are all out of your mind!''

I had to step in before somebody would taste a knuckle sandwich. ''Calm down, everyone. We need to take the facts, one after another. Fact number one – if ye want to 'urt somebody, ye usually do it directly if ye can. That threath... was it really necessary? Fact number two – children often dislike step-mothers. Cinderella, anyone?''

Timothy's face turned sickly green, gapin' his blue eyes at us, his lower lip tremblin'.

''Have you got any idea what you are saying?'' cried out his governess, protectively pressing him to her bossom. ''He is but a child!''

''You are used to protecting him,'' remarked Sebastian with a chuckle. ''A praiseworthy trait for someone in your position. You are right, he is very young. It is really good he has someone like you by his side, someone to _help _him. Please, show us your forearms, we might be wrong.''

Before she could say anythin', the boy raised his hand and looked at lady Beatrice. ''Yes, I did it. Don't blame Helen, papa, it wasn't her idea, she just didn't want to get me into trouble. But... I'd do it again.''

I knelt down to him, so we'd be at least on a similar eye-level and asked: ''Ye like playin' outside, right?''

A soft nod was given in response.

''Even by the lake, right?''

''Yes, that's true.''

So far we hit everythin'. Good score, don't ye think? ''There is a little hidden cave, do you know it? We – Sebastian and I – found it. And we found somethin' else too. Ye as well, right? Ye found out lady Beatrice murdered yer ma.''

Deafenin' silence. The boy nodded again.

The butler laid the box he held on the ground and opened it. It contained everythin' we found o' her – her bones, skull, the bullet and the locket.

''Ye love yer 'usband to death, ain't it this way, ma'am? Too bad it had to be to somebody else's death. She didn't appreciate him enough, found someone else instead and asked ye, her good friend, to 'elp her elope. She asked ye, right? Helen overheard her talkin' to a good friend about her plans.''

Lady Beatrice was speechless for a moment. ''This is absolutely ridiculous!'' she stated after she regained her ability to speak. ''If I knew she was going to leave, why would I kill her?''

Sebastian picked up the skull, studyin' it with an unreadable expression. ''Sir Allen was out of the house. Everything was ready, lady Nora left a letter for her spouse. You arrived at night and waited for her. She came and you set off for the journey... soon you'd be free to visit the estate again, express your empathy for the suddenly single father and maybe even offer comfort? You did not help her out of friendship, madam, it was out of selfishness, not that any of us wants to judge that. But then...''

I continued. ''Somethin' 'appened. Lady nora changed 'er mind and wanted to go back. Mayhaps it was for her child? Well, guess it's up to ye and ye only to tell use that now. Yer own plans were in danger. Two women alone travellin' at night... ye had a pistol right? And ye put it to good use.''

''That probably was not a part of your plan, my lady,'' pointed out Sebastian, a smirk tuggin' at the corner o his lips. He was enjoyin' that! Well, yeah, so was I. Grillin' nobles; always fun.''And you panicked. You needed to hide the body quickly and stumbled over the little cave. It was a perfect hiding place. Without great effort you had everyone thinking lady Nora left her husband, but maybe you should have buried the body too. But then, you did not expect your step-son to find it.''

The governess whispered: ''Timothy is a smart young man, I told you that.''

''Aye, we know. Though, if he came to his father with that, would he believe him? No. So ye two 'oped that if ye scared her enough, she would confess... uhm... lady Beatrice, this is the appropriate moment to do so.''

''She was a whore!'' spat out the lady, her beautiful face twisted into a grotesque, 'ateful mask.

''And you are a murderer,'' smirked Sebastian. ''It's a small world.''

''Yes, I shot her! She deserved it!'' Beatrice clasped George's 'and and turned her imploring eyes to him. ''I always cherished you, something she never could. I did it, but just because I loved you so. Please, look at me. Look at me and tell me you love me, I beg you.''

He couldn't even look at her. I deeply felt for him. It was probably quite a shock.

The murderess let go off his 'and and broke into a run. I went after her, o' course, and Basti joined the chase too. We followed her alon' the bank and she ran, ran, ran, like a 'unted doe.

Basti suddenly changed the direction, but I didn't 'ave the time to ask him why, 'cause she was so close, I could smell her perfume... lavender, lavender and despair.  
The woman tripped over a root and almost fell into the water. She reached into her blazer and suddenly I'm standin' 'ere, starin' into a gun barrel.

Her breathing is heavy and those gorgeous eyes are filled with fear, but her hands are steady; she did it once and she can do it again and her finger on the trigger is fascinating and I know I can't do anything and I now see this is how I'll die, after all I've been through and every single second is stretching into immense length and the hell is empty and all the devils are here and she pulls the trigger and I shut my eyes and the bullet doesn't hit my 'eart, 'cause someone pushes me away.

I'm falling into the lake.

The last thing I see is Sebastian on his knees, clutchin' his chest tightly.

Then I hit the surface. That's the last thin' I remember clearly.

* * *

When I woke up, it was already dark. It took me a good while to recall everythin'. At first the only sensation I'm capable o' perceivin' is the texture o' linen bedsheets beneath my fingers.

''Awake? You received quite a blow into your head. Hopefully there is no permanent damage. After all, humans are _so_ fragile.''

I recognise Sebastian's voice. He is sittin' at the edge o' the bed – we're in our room. He doesn't seem ruffled at all even though...

''Ye're alive?''

''An excellent observation as usually, Mr Martyn,'' he responds smoothly. He looks at his pocketwatch. ''Lady Beatrice was caught, I suppose you would like to know that.''

What I would _really _like to know is why he took a bullet for me, but somehow I doubt I can ask him that.

''How did ye survive that shot?''

He 'ands me a Bible. The bullet is deep stuck into it, but the last page finally stopped it. The very last one. ''Ye're kiddin' me,'' I stammer out. Unbelievable. We both fall silent for a while. There are three words burning on my tongue. They need to be said.

''I... thank ye. I would've been dead weren't it for ye.''

His face is blank and I guess he doesn't really know what to say, 'cause this ain't anythi' but extremely awkward for us both. For me, definitely.

''I think you did a good job today,'' noted the butler reluctantly. ''We're leaving tomorrow morning again. And so the only mystery that remains unsolved is what woke everyone up yesterday and what happened to you last night.''

Leaning over he picks up the cross hangin' on my neck on a strin' and only then I realise I am not... uhm... wearin' much. Fuck this. I can practically feel my cheeks growin' red and that makes it even worse than it already was. ''Well?''

''I guess some mysteries just gotta remain unsolved,'' I utter at last, givin' him the Bible back. ''So... does that mean we're friends now?''

''And do we have to be?''

Sebastian is probably right asking that. No, we don't and so I leave this question without an answer.  
Still - in the world full of demons it's nice to have someone to cover yer back.  
I don't 'ave to like him, I don't 'ave to trust him, but it seems Basti is that person.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
